Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Nineteen

Hard to believe it's Wednesday already! Where does the time go? Guess that's what having a holiday does for you!  lol Welcome to more flash fiction from the Wednesday Briefers! Glad you stopped by! Sit back and relax and you'll be able to read some wonderful flash fiction!  And Happy Hump Day to you all!

Poor Dallas doesn't know whether he's coming or go. Is Samuel helping or hurting? Find out in this week's episode of Dallas in Wonderland II! And don't forget to visit the other Briefers and receive their flash fiction offerings!

Dallas in Wonderland II: Chapter Nineteen

Dallas’ head was decidedly spinning. Samuel’s logic was... not logical. “What are you saying? He caused me to hallucinate seeing him in your office? With you?” That didn’t even make sense. “Why would he want to do that?”

Dallas was not vain enough to believe Quentin was pining for him. Quentin Mandrake was only in love with himself. He had no room in his ego for anyone else. And Dallas refused to entertain the notion that Quentin had even the semblance of a heart.

Dallas decided to start on a new tack. This one was getting him nowhere fast.

“Samuel, what about the trial?”

“The trial?” Samuel echoed, a smirk upon his too-kissable lips. Dallas fought hard to keep focused on the matter at hand.

“Yes, the trial. Remember that? You were put on trial by Queen Quentin, for stealing his tart, and sentenced to death...”

Samuel’s eyebrows quirked. “A death sentence for the theft of a pastry? Bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“No, no, not that kind of tart.” Dallas’ face heated. He tried not to look at either Samuel or Campbell. “Me,” he managed to get out at last. “He said you stole his tart, meaning me...” And wasn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, he thought bitterly. Especially since he’d never once cheated on Quentin. Not ever.

“And just what do you do here in Wonderland, Dr. Levi?” Campbell interjected. Dallas silently blessed him for changing the embarrassing subject.

“That which you only wish to do,” Samuel replied obliquely. Why did the man persist in talking in riddles? And why did Dallas find him so damn attractive?

“You know nothing about me,” Campbell retorted in a flat voice. “And I don’t think you much Dallas very well, either. Or you would appreciate him more. And not treat him the way you do.”

“What do you know of my relationship with Dallas?” Samuel’s voice never rose in pitch or intensity, maintaining its usual even tone. “How long have you been an expert on Dallas Crosby?”

“Longer than you.”

Samuel’s smirk grew broader, his copper eyes gleaming, his expression unfathomable. “Does that mean you are as familiar with his body as I am, Campbell?”

Campbell remained silent, and Dallas ached for him. Why couldn’t Samuel leave him alone? He didn’t deserve this. Neither of them did. He prayed that Samuel wouldn’t persist. But obviously, no one was home in Prayer Central at the moment.

Samuel slid his hand down Dallas’ body, coming to rest against his groin. Dallas couldn’t help the moan that elicited, as Samuel cupped him familiarly.

“Do you know how he feels? Do you know what pleases him? What turns him on so much he practically begs for it? And do you know how good he is in bed, how eager to please?” Samuel’s other hand snaked around and cupped poor Dallas’ ass. Another moan.

“Don’t, Samuel,” he protested feebly, his voice barely above a whisper. Samuel’s touch was... disturbing to him. At least in this contest. In front of Campbell. That had never been the case before. Why now? He knew damn well the things he and Samuel had done.

Why did they suddenly feel so dirty?

“I know you are no gentleman.” Campbell was distraught, despite outward appearances, and Dallas felt it.
“Samuel, please,” he began to beg. “Don’t do this to me. Why are you doing this?” His eyes beseeched Campbell’s understanding... and more.

“Leave him alone,” Campbell protested. “What has he done to deserve such treatment? What are you thinking?” Campbell took a step toward them. He reached for Dallas, but a rich booming laugh drew him up short. The laughter was Samuel’s.

“You know,” Samuel drawled, once he grew serious once more, “I wouldn’t give two cents for whatever you’re thinking. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. You want him for yourself. What makes you any better than me in that regard, hmmm?”

Dallas watched the flush that crept across Campbell’s beautiful skin, but he never lost his temper, never stooped to Samuel’s level. “What makes me better than you is that I care about him as a person, something you obviously don’t. Or you would not treat him in this way. Release him now, Dr. Levi.”

“Well, well, the little Southern worm turns.” He cast an amused glance between the two men. “Looks like you need to choose, Dallas. Although I have every confidence in what your choice will be. Or should I say who?”

Choose? Choose what? Choose who? His heart hammered in his chest. Samuel’s hands on his body wasn’t helping one iota.

“I want... I want...” But before he could get the name out, Samuel’s mouth had descended on his, locking whatever he’d been about to say deep in his throat. Dallas’ eyes closed involuntarily, and he felt his cowardice most distinctly.

No, don’t... fight... Something in him told him not to give in, to struggle against the doctor. He closed his hands into fists and pushed against Samuel’s chest. The man was strong, and didn’t budge.

“Let go of him!” That was Campbell’s voice. Dallas’ eyes flew open at the sound. He saw Campbell yanking at Samuel’s arm. Ineffectively. But still he persisted. Fighting for Dallas. Fighting for Dallas’ dignity. Something Samuel seemed incapable of, apparently.

Samuel didn’t seem to be disturbed in the slightest. He maintained his hold on Dallas, and effortlessly held Campbell at bay. Dallas couldn’t help but wonder how this bizarre Mexican stand-off would end? Not well, he was afraid.

Samuel’s glanced seemed to reach beyond Campbell, for some reason. What was he looking at?”
Too late, Dallas followed his line of sight, only to find someone sneaking up behind Campbell, a large club in his hand.

“Campbell, watch out!” Dallas cried.

Too late. The club descended on Campbell’s head, and he dropped to the ground with a soft moan.
“Fuck you, Penn!” Dallas screamed at the assailant, who only grinned at him, then stuck out his tongue.

 to be continued

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